Old friends sat on their parkbench like book ends
by NairobiWonders
Summary: Light vignettes, Joan & Sherlock after the dust settles in season three and life takes on a rhythm. Written to make me feel better about the addition of the new characters and the survival of the Holmes/Watson relationship (no angst or fights). Platonic joanlock. (Title from Simon & Garfunkel's "Old Friends")


Brownstone kitchen, late afternoon:

Sherlock sits at the table, his back to the counters and refrigerator. The alarm clock she broke this morning at her place is in pieces before him. Joan accidentally knocked it off the nightstand and across the room when it announced morning too early for her liking. She brought it with her knowing Sherlock could fix it. Sherlock was intent on doing so.

"Open your mouth."

"What for?" he asks.

"Just open" she commands.

He dutifully opens his mouth. Joan pops in a round cracker with the salmon spread she made for Cheryl's potluck. Sherlock chews with vigor.

"So what do you think?"

"Good. Needs a bit more seasoning, salt, a squeeze of lemon perhaps."

"Thanks." Joan amends the spread as he suggested.

"Why couldn't your beau taste test for you," Sherlock jerks his head in the direction of Andrew who sits quietly watching them. She rummages through the cabinets looking for the orange fiesta ware bowl she knows she left here.

"I don't like fish." Andrew states matter of factly and continues to observe them.

Sherlock eyes him suspiciously before slightly turning his head to call to Watson over his shoulder, "May I have another?" He continues tinkering with the small gears before him.

Her hand appears in front of him. He opens his mouth wide, moves forward and takes in the whole cracker and a bit of her finger in one swoop.

She taps him on the head, "Sherlock!"

He nods his apology, "Mm mmmm mmm."

Andrew stands. "Are we ready to go?"

Joan and Sherlock look at him as if they forgot he was in the room.

"Sure," Joan picks up the Tupperware container and the orange bowl. "Thanks, Sherlock. I'll call you later."

He nods, calling out after them as they leave the kitchen, "Enjoy your soirée." Andrew's arm drops around Joan's shoulder. Sherlock watches them ascend the stairs, draws a deep heavy breath and resumes the task that Watson has set for him.

/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/

Andrew sits patiently on the library sofa while Sherlock and Watson argue.  
"He would had to have made his escape through the bathroom window. A grown man couldn't ..."

She interrupts him. "It's not that difficult. As a matter of fact, I re... " She stops, realizing that Andrew is listening. "Let's just say I know it's possible to break into or escape from a bathroom through the window ... even someone your size could do it easily."

A small glint appears in Sherlock's eyes, he suppresses a smile and nods. "Alright, point taken; but look at the way the victim was bound," he hands her a stack of photos that she spreads out on the floor and both squat down to examine.

Kitty has been sitting on the ottoman behind them, she stands and comes over to examine the photos as well. "I don't think there's any thing in these photos that could be of any possible use."

Sherlock squints up at her, his lips curl and his head shakes in reproach; Joan's dismissive glance follows. They return their attention to the work before them, shuffling the photos into order.

Andrew checks his watch, "You guys have ten more minutes before we have to leave, Joan." His remark is met by an irritated glare from Sherlock and a curt nod from Joan.

"Look, look at this one," she says excitedly pointing at a photo almost out of reach. She stretches and leans forward, showing Sherlock where the rope has not left marks. As she talks, Sherlock listens intently drawing energy from her words. She reaches forward for the photo and almost loses her balance. Sherlock grabs the photo and her arm to steady her back into a crouch.

"Yes," Sherlock stretches the word into a hiss as he examines the photo closely. He looks up at her quite pleased, words rushing out at her. "It was staged, the ropes were placed on after. The victim must have known her attacker. Not sure how I missed that. Excellent work, Watson." Joan soaks in the praise and beams at him. They both scramble up, collecting the photos from the floor. Sherlock reaches for his phone, "I'll call the captain and tell him we are on our way and to detain Kent."

"Joan..." Andrew clears his throat. Joan turns from the file she is reassembling and guiltily looks at him. "Does this mean we're not going to the movies?"

"I'm sorry Andrew but this is important. Maybe we can catch a later show?" She is following Sherlock who is heading towards the coatrack.

"Perhaps Ms. Winter would care to accompany you, Andrew, since she's really been of no help to this investigation whatsoever." Kitty ignores the comment and follows them to the foyer.

An uncomfortable moment passes between the four. Sherlock reaches for Watson's coat and holds it for her. She slips her arms in without hesitation, arranges the collar and moves towards the door.

"Look, we are in a hurry here, so you are welcome to come with, or not, but we need to go," Joan's tone is matter of fact as she walks through the door Sherlock holds open for her.

Andrew and Kitty stand unsure of what to do. Sherlock turns quickly back to face them, "If I may ask whoever leaves last to lock the front door, hmm? Not the best of neighborhoods." He raises his eyebrows, sets his mouth in a straight line that may be a smile and excitedly follows after Watson, phone to ear, "Hello, Captain, I believe Watson has noticed a detail that..."

The door shuts behind them.

/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/

Kitty sits at the kitchen table, a large volume on 18th century weaponry open before her. She stares at it blankly.

Sherlock is at the stove, stirring a large pot of sauce. Watson, who has been reviewing files upstairs, walks in and goes over to him. Kitty shifts her eyes and covertly watches them.

"All done?" he asks.

"Yes. I couldn't find anything of use." Joan leans on the counter, angling her body away from Kitty. She doesn't trust the woman; doesn't know what she is up to but it is most certainly not anything good. "What are you making?"

"Hmm. Perhaps we need a new approach." He adjusts the heat of the burner. "Sauce. Homemade spaghetti sauce with the tomatoes from our garden." He looks at her expecting a remark, when none comes forth, he continues, "I looked over the Yacht evidence earlier, I think Marcus may be onto something."

The way they hold two or more conversations at the same time irritates Kitty.

"Okay," Joan responds absentmindedly. "It smells good."

"Here." Sherlock dips his spoon in the sauce, blowing on the contents before offering it to her. "Careful, it's hot."

She takes the spoon, blows on its contents and takes a taste. He watches expectantly, waiting for her approval.

"Mmmm," she closes her eyes in enjoyment. "That is so good." Sherlock radiates satisfaction at her comment.

A small drop of sauce sits on the side of Watson's mouth. Sherlock reaches, tucks his fingers under her chin and wipes the offending spot away with his thumb. He holds her face a second longer than necessary letting his thumb trail down her chin. Joan gives him a small smile in thanks. His eyes widen when he realizes what he's doing. Embarrassed by his action, he drops his hand, looks away and turns his attention back to the stove. Joan moves closer to him and says something in a tone so hushed and intimate that Kitty can hear none of it. Sherlock gives Watson a sidelong look and produces a small smile while shaking his head yes.

Kitty watches, makes mental notes. She has been tasked with taking Watson's place in Sherlock's world. The more she observes of their interactions, even in the simplest of situations, the more she realizes that replacement will be impossible. At best, she may prove a temporary fill-in, but not a replacement. Her boss will not be pleased.


End file.
